Page 22 of Flint

We both shake our head.

Bailey sighs. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, and don’t kill the messenger. You might not know this, but we’re best friends, and I will fight to keep you that way, even if I have to tie you to my side.”

“Ha, I get it now.”

I look over at the crazy girl next to me with a raised eyebrow in question.

She looks at me and smirks. “Die Bitch, who you said was in my phone? It’s ‘ride or die,’ as in she’s my ride-or-die bitch. Either way, we’re together.”

“Yeah, you’re listed as Ride Bitch in my phone. We called it friendship contacts, like those friendship bracelets we had as kids but kept losing ’cause the clasps broke and they were cheap.”

“Quit stalling, honey.”

Oh, man, the glare Prospect just got? I even feel the frost off that. He ain’t lying about her stalling, but I find myself highly intrigued because he keeps staring at her. Not in an untrusting way, more like a brother does a vamp. He wants a piece of that ass.

“Anyway, your parents…. Well, sorry to break it to you, but they sort of suck as individuals.”

“And…?”

“Dammit, okay, going to rip the Band-Aid off and just let it go. They used you as a cash cow. Since your modeling career began, they dragged you around to any place that would pay to have you there. You did what you were told, dressed how you were told, hell, even ate when you were told. You never went to school; not elementary school I mean. You did the modeling things for eight years. They only stopped because you got sick.”

“What did I have?”

Bailey drags in a deep breath as she turns her eyes to her lap. I can already tell this is hard for her to say, and I doubt Kitten understands the magnitude of what’s about to come like I can feel already.

“Anorexia. Your family forced you to become anorexic. You had no idea it was even a thing. I think another model’s mom noticed and reported it or something. Anyway, you were at the local hospital, and, well, I was there too. We were room buddies because my family couldn’t afford the single room, and yours didn’t want to spend the money when it wasn’t needed. I would watch them come in and act all loving in front of the doctor, but as soon as she left, they called you fat and ugly and would change your food menu choice to the bare minimum, continuing to starve you. They didn’t care enough about kids to know that even eleven-year-olds have phones, so I recorded it, showed my parents and a few doctors. They weren’t allowed to visit for a while till you got better. But you never got better. Not really. You started to have kidney malfunction and needed a transplant because of poor nutrition. Your parents went to court to file for their own divorce, but it was the custody battle that took the longest. Neither wanted to claim you, to fork over the money they had. So my parents stepped in, adopted you on paper since you were still a minor, and basically put the money you made in a trust fund till you were twenty-five, effectively taking it away from them. To say they were pissed doesn’t even scratch the surface. You moved in with me and my family after that and went to high school with me. You only moved away for college in New York but moved back when you got really sick and wanted to be closer to friends.”

“What happened to my kidneys?”

“Um, you had to get a transplant, actually. It happened about four years ago. Doctors did what they could, but it got to where they had to replace it.”

“That explains the scar,” I mumble almost to myself, not realizing I spoke out loud.

“Wait, I have a scar? Where?”

She pulls her shirt up, but just like last time, she won’t be able to see it under the sling. I guess she didn’t even notice it when cleaning herself up, ’cause there’s still a bit of mud on her skin there too.

I take the fingers of her uninjured hand and guide them across her scar. Her eyes stare at me, but I don’t think she sees me, just the imaginary image she’s feeling. I rub her fingers in a few circles before moving my hand away and turning back to Bailey. Yeah, she didn’t miss my touch from the glare I’m getting.

“Who gave me one? Was it my parents?”

Oh, my poor little Kitten. So hopeful.

“Ah, no. You really don’t talk to them. I mean, they try to call you and get you to give them money, but you sort of block them every chance you get. You actually never even told them you needed one. I… I was able to give you one of mine.”

“Yours! I have you inside me? Damn, we really are ride-or-die best friends.”

“Yeah, we kind of are.” Her warm smile sort of pulls you in, and I instantly ease up on assuming the worst out of her. Don’t fully trust her yet, but people don’t know that kind of detail, make that kind of claim, without it being mostly true.

A grunt has the group turning to Prospect, who's been sitting at the island chair, never once joining us in the living room. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“What’s your problem?” Bailey glares as she clenches her hands into fists at her sides.

“No problem.” Prospect shrugs it off.

“Really? ’Cause you can’t seem to take your eyes off me. It’s called fat. I’m a fat girl. I get it, lived with it my whole life. Sorry if that offends you or some shit or you need to stare at me like a person in the zoo. People come in all shapes and sizes, asshole. Sorry, we don’t all wear a size two like I’m sure the girls you’re used to do. So go ahead, say what you want. Tell me what I am. I swear to God I’ve heard it all before, and I doubt you’ll come up with anything new. So tell me what the hell you see that explains why you keep looking at me.”

“Beautiful. Gorgeous. Sexy as fuck.” Prospect doesn’t even hesitate to continue. “I see a woman who’s got curves I want to hold on to. A face made for kissing and hair that’s just begging to be pulled as I fuck you from behind. I see a badass woman who takes shit from no one, no matter what it could mean about her own personal safety. Yeah, I’ve been staring. Any red-blooded man would, and probably does. You think it’s because of something it ain’t, probably because skinny bitches been jealous of the attention you’ve gotten for years and think putting you down brings them up. But nothing about you is off-putting in the least, and I’m doing all I can not to pull you into my lap so you can feel what you do to me,” he finishes with a growl of frustration.

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